Educational Procrastination

A passing glance triggered it, a boredom-staving traipse through a sea of entertainment. My curiosity got the better of me that day, and I’m so glad it did, but my mum would say it’s just lucky I’m not a cat. (“Curiosity killed the cat,” she’d chide me, but her words often went in one ear and out the other.) Feline or human, I was a creature of habit, and I’d be back to the same old tricks despite each and every warning. This time, I was drowning in the waters of unfulfilled energy, and I wanted an outlet.

Waterlogged and defeated, I had resigned myself to another after-school evening of boredom. Mum had always allowed a half hour of telly before bed, but I had never taken her up on the offer, preferring to read or play outside or play my guitar to while away the time before 7 pm, when me and my younger siblings would be herded up to bed. That night, I was out of options, having no one to play with and my guitar confiscated until a “suitable time” arrived for my practise. I settled onto the couch and glanced at the clock. 7 pm. Darn! Guess telly wasn’t an option either, at least not if Mum showed up. I took the chance anyway and snuck the remote from the coffee table, desperation removing all threat of consequence from my nine-year-old mind. The mahogany wood was smooth under my hand, and I slid in the space underneath the table’s surface and the floor to avoid detection. I pressed the power button and pictured myself as the height of stealth (just barely clearing 5’ but never you mind that), exhilarated as the telly flickered to life. I imagined swimming past glamourous movie stars and zany cartoon characters as I surfed the channels, content with flipping past random shows and films.

A flash of blue and a giant numbered grid caught my eye. I paused in my idle scrolling, my attention settling on the three adults, each with furrowed brows, standing at separate podiums. My mind wandered and I couldn’t help how badly I wanted to know why they were so confused. I scrambled downwards, inched closer to the telly and raised the volume, held in rapt attention. Even more intriguing, though, was the presenter of the show, his shock of silver hair somehow the least exciting thing about him. I was inexplicably entranced by the gentleman on the screen. His kind and unassuming nature radiated from his core, but as I watched, I noticed an undercurrent of Puck-esque trickery thrumming in his twinkly eyes.

The players picked their categories, and he ploughed ahead, periodically piping up with a quick-witted quip before they revealed their queries. The quizzical expressions I had perceived suddenly came into clearer focus, the players’ frustrations practically palpable as the programme progressed. They hung their head for a few moments, absorbing the (question?) answer and audibly admonishing themselves for their attempts.

It was a game show which stymied them, a guesstimation of general knowledge. I soon joined their ranks, tuning in night after night to compete from the comfort of my couch. Jeopardy! jumped to the forefront of my nightly schedule, and Alex Trebek quickly became as familiar to me as a family friend. As far as my family was concerned, however, none of my siblings shared my steadily strengthening habit. It was the only show I sat still long enough to watch, all my energy invested in 30 minutes of tricky trivia and fascinating facts. I would have been perfectly happy to watch the show by myself, but I was delighted to discover my mum was a fanatic, raring to foist her love of knowledge onto the next generation.

We often watched in tandem, but my mum said nothing those first few nights when I stayed up past bedtime to watch. I later found out she knew the entire time, but was grateful to have a quiet kid in a house full to bursting with seven hooligans, herself included. If it was random facts that got me to shut up for thirty minutes at a time, she was gonna milk every second of her reprieve. Sometimes she’d sneak in, and I wouldn’t realise I had her company until her eager, energetic peal echoed in my ear, the grey-haired host usually repeating my mum’s answer nearly verbatim.

The pair of them became my respite, partners and participants in a much-needed practise. They were a steady, seemingly omniscient presence and source of relief from the structured stress and strain of school. It was a nightly exercise in passive knowledge expansion, though it was also a convenient excuse to avoid a stringent bed time. My mum called it ‘educational procrastination’ and was both annoyed and impressed I’d found a loophole to exploit in her usually ironclad policies.

Alex Trebek and his calming mannerisms filled my mind in the days after, but when I sat groggy and uninspired at the breakfast table, random factoids shuffled in the recesses. My decisions had all the resolve of dry spaghetti sticks thrown against a wall, but night after night, I sat and watched. That is to say, I had never committed to much of anything before, and a trivia competition would have been the last thing on my mind. It mystified me why a game show would still be so captivating to me, more than two decades into syndication, but there I was, as loyal as a seasoned viewer.

If I liked Jeopardy! on a whim, then finding another (equally entertaining) show to keep my interest was a needle in a haystack. I was convinced, and there was no convincing me otherwise. If you’re anything like me, then you know that we’re a little, shall we say, difficult. (My mum prefers the word “stressful,” and “stubborn,” but good thing we didn’t ask her!) Crazy kids like us finding another worthy distraction is a nearly impossible feat.

Enter Alton Brown, food scientist extraordinaire and thief of my (remaining) after school hours. His was a (fairly) new endeavour, and I was an impressionable student, (still) insufferable on my Jeopardy! kick. I was the proud and recent owner of a double digit age, fresh off a presentation on caloric content in my science class. At the time, were studying food science and nutrition. In the middle of class, I blurted out a suggestion about having a Jeopardy! style tournament to test the class on our knowledge, bouncing out of my seat to swear I would help to set it up. I finagled a yes from my teacher by promising to do some research to make sure the information was factually accurate. She suggested I look into food science blogs and culinary websites to bolster my efforts. I browsed Epicurious and Bon Appetit, found after a cursory web search, but they were geared towards an eager audience of general foodies, people without interest in food beyond gastronomic satisfaction and indulgence.

I fretted to my teacher that most of the sites and sources I had found were only partially informative, and I wanted to get deep into the science and chemistry of food. I told her about the joke my mum often made about ‘educational procrastination’ as a way to relay my frustration that a show like Jeopardy! didn’t exist for a field as vital as food science. She thought about it a moment, then scribbled two words hastily on a small sheet of paper. She slipped me the folded note as I left class later that day, but only after she ensured that I would watch at least one episode and tell her about it the next class.

I raced home after school and rushed to my room, ignoring my recently-returned guitar, and my older siblings home for a rare weekend from university. I ripped open my backpack and dug for the pleated piece of paper, rummaging through snacks and study books and sheets of music. I finally fished it out, folded between an old math test and an English assignment. There it was, the eight-lettered saviour of my suffering scientific scheme. I powered up my laptop and typed it into my computer, my science teacher’s words fresh in my mind:

G-O-O-D E-A-T-S. She had billed the show as food science meets Jeopardy!, with occasional Muppet-style skits and learning aids. He was described as a coherent Mr Beeker and Swedish Chef, with a bit of Bill Nye. Jeopardy!, Muppets, food science AND Bill Nye?! I was sold, and boy was she right! I sped through a first episode and then a second before I knew it, elated to see the same qualities in Alton which had endeared me to Alex. Like Alex, he was a nerd at heart, but Alton was a culinary geek. Both had unmistakable zeal, their passion clearly evident in approachable explanations and painstaking research. Like Alex, Alton was not one to miss a pun, either, and I groaned at every one while barely stifling a guffaw. I gushed to my teacher the next day, and she was equally ecstatic, happy to have another fan in her corner.

I indulged my newfound obsession, gorging on season after season of the informative and engaging show. It thrilled me to know I was learning more about food science and culinary history by the day, knowledge much more specialised than Jeopardy! could ever impart. My ‘educational procrastination’ continued with a vengeance, and soon I had more than enough information and sources for a rousing game of Jeopardy! in science class.

I remember it as a wild tournament, and even the classmates whose participation was non-existent joined in, too tempted to refuse such a fun-looking game. I have food science and trivia to thank for such a fond memory of fifth grade science, and my former teacher to thank for a lifetime of knowledge gained. Good Eats is still one of my favourite shows some ten years later, and I never would have known it existed if not for a stellar educator. Jeopardy! is right up there as top contender as well, and anytime I’m back home, I watch it with my mum (but I’m just as competitive when I watch alone, too).

I suppose I could call this another exercise in ‘educational procrastination,’ but this time, I’m not avoiding my bedtime, and it’s your turn to learn something. If nothing else, the story here is that a game show and a cooking show have a lot more in common than you would think. If you like fascinating facts, thought-provoking trivia, and quirky hosts, Jeopardy! and Good Eats might just be for you. Let me know if you do watch either programme, so I can nerd out with you. I’m always looking for a new fan!